


Put All Your Paper Maps Away

by 61Below



Category: Old Kingdom - Garth Nix, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Abhorsen AU, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, BAMF Bilbo Baggins, Charter Magic, Gen, M/M, Slow Burn, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-13 18:05:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4531812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/61Below/pseuds/61Below
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you're referring to the incident with the dragon, Gandalf was barely involved. He just gave Bilbo a little nudge out the door and over the Wall. </p>
<p>Bilbo is <i>not</i> the Thain. Thorin is the Wallmaker King. Mogget is still Mogget, and he will do as he pleases.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "The wide world is all about you: you can fence yourselves in, but you cannot for ever fence it out."  
> J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring

Bilbo sat with his face turned up to the sun, with his lungs full of good Old Toby, with his toes buried deep in the grass before his bench, and took a moment to appreciate this perfect mo--

"Bilbo Baggins," declared an unfamiliar gravelly voice. 

Poor Bilbo Baggins' eyes flew open and he choked on his pipeweed. Standing before him on the other side of his gate was the tallest old man he'd ever seen, and his big grey pointy hat only stretched him out even more. He stooped on a tall, knobbly walking stick and was entirely too self-satisfied for someone who was interrupting Bilbo's fine morning. 

When Bilbo recovered from his unseemly coughing fit, he set aside his annoyance and called, "Good morning!" like all good neighbors should. 

The stranger harrumphed cantankerously, "Is that a wish, a statement, or a command?" 

Bilbo bit his pipe and growled back, "it was a statement, now a wish. Good morning to you." He waved his pipe as if to wave him on. Conversely, the stranger smiled. 

Bilbo blinked. Had the old man's cloak changed color? Surely it had been a lighter grey just now, and were the fastenings different? He'd just been admiring the silver clasps, where now it was tied with laces. The harder Bilbo looked, the more it stayed the same, but out of the corner of his eye, the visitor's appearance shifted ever so. 

The old man at the gate threw back his head and laughed, "Ah, so it was a command then!" But Bilbo froze, ice water poured down his spine, because he could see that behind the broad brim of the traveler's hat, _he bore no Charter Mark!_

Bilbo made ready to bolt back into his hobbit hole when the stranger continued, "To think that I would live to be good-morninged by Belladonna Took's son as if I was a trespassing vagabond...I have a name, even if you do not remember it yet, Bilbo! I am Gandalf."

Bilbo dropped his pipe. "Gandalf? Good gracious. Not the same Gandalf who used to make the most marvelous fireworks for midsummer?" Gandalf smiled and nodded. Bilbo continued, a little more sharply, "Not the same Gandalf who spirited my mother away when she was a mere tween to cast out the barrow-wight king?" Gandalf nodded blithely. "Not the same Gandalf who's been labelled a Disturber of the Peace for taking too many hobbit lads and lasses off into the Blue for mad adventures, eh? I had no idea you were still in business." 

Here Gandalf huffed, "And where else would I be? A 'Disturber of the Peace?' Now really. No, today I'd like to talk to you about an adventure--"

Bilbo jumped up as if scalded and pointed his pipe at Gandalf, incensed. "No. _No_ thank you, I don't want any adventures here. Not today. Good morning! Please come by for tea sometime, but I really must be going!" And he dove for the safety of his hobbit hole, shutting the door as quickly as he dared, without seeming rude. Wouldn't do to offend a wizard. 

After a moment, Bilbo thumped his head back against the thick wood of his round door. "Why did I invite him for tea? Friend of my mother or not! _Why_?" But there was nothing to be done about it, it was too late now. He did the only sensible thing to do in that moment, he headed to the kitchen. 

\---

By the next evening, Bilbo had already put the matter out of his mind. Tea time had come and gone with no further incident than his interfering cousin Lobelia. Lobelia was always an incident in and of herself. No, indeed, he was looking forward to his quiet supper, with nothing but the crackle of the hearth fire to disturb his pe--

KNOCK! KNOCK! 

He froze for a moment, then heaved himself out of his chair with an internal sigh. Who on earth would come at this hour? _Gandalf_. Gandalf could possibly be that abominably rude. He opened his door and met...a dwarf. 

The dwarf was _huge_. He was a good head taller and twice as broad, armored and armed to the teeth, and his bald crown had tattoos framing his Charter Mark and what was left of his hairline. This ruffian bowed sharply. "Dwalin, at your service." 

Bilbo blinked, tightened his robe over his nightshirt, and returned the bow stiffly, "Bilbo Baggins, at yours." 

He stared at the dwarf for a moment, gobsmacked, before the dwarf growled, "Well? Get on with it!" 

Bilbo's brow furrowed. "What? ...Oh!" He pushed his bangs up out of the way so his Charter Mark was visible. Dwalin, not satisfied by the sight alone, stepped forward and brushed two thick fingers to the mark. Bilbo swallowed an indignant huff, and thought meanly _Well two can play that game_. He brushed his own two fingers over the dwarf's shining Mark and fell into the unending stream of the Charter for one blazing moment. Once released, Bilbo fought to clear his head from the dizziness and spots on his vision from the too-bright marks. Dwalin took that moment to push inside, hang his cloak on the coat rack, and follow his nose to the kitchen, grinding mud from his great big boots into the carpets. Bilbo shook his head and ran after him.  
"Dw-Dwalin, while I'm glad to make your acquaintance, I'm afraid I must ask why you're he-"

The dwarf was already cleaning the last of the fish and potatoes from the plate. Bilbo stared, gobsmacked. Dwalin noticed his staring and grunted, "That was good, but yer going to need a bit more."

"M-more?" Bilbo spluttered, still stuck on his lost trout. Then the doorbell rang again. 

Bilbo bustled back to his front door, finding yet another dwarf, who bowed low with a, "Balin, at your service." Bilbo responded in kind, but the dwarf looked expectantly at his forehead and-- no, surely not-- really? Bilbo held his bangs back so this Balin could see that he had an uncorrupted Charter Mark, but no! That wasn't enough! Bebother these dwarves! Two thick fingers reached over the lintel and _touched_ his Mark. Bilbo bore it with crossed arms, but Balin stood there touching his Mark for a moment before he prompted, "Well laddie?" And with an affronted huff, Bilbo brushed a reluctant finger across the dwarf's Mark. 

He was briefly swept under the sea of swirling, burning, flashing marks again and was again left reeling as a strange dwarf swept into the smial like he owned the place. Balin saw Dwalin and the pair attacked each other, heads colliding with a great sharp _Crack!_ and Bilbo nearly fainted. Then this Dwalin led this Balin down the hall, tracking even more mud into the carpets, and that was enou--

The bell rang before Bilbo got even half way down the hall. He hurried back to the front door, feeling his hands start to shake from the stress. Two ( _two!_ ) dwarves stood on his stoop, and bowed in unison, chiming "Fili and Kili" like he had the chance to differentiate between the two, and no-- _no!_ they were waiting for Bilbo to display his Mark. Bilbo tried to distract them with his own name, but no-- not good-- and with a gulp he had to deal with two dwarves reaching their grubby hands towards his forehead. Resigned, he reached out with each hand to connect with the dwarves' Marks. 

The Charter crashed over him, bright tracers following each burning mark, tumbling like a golden blizzard, and Bilbo had to catch himself on the door handle to stop from falling. The blonde dwarf shoved a pile of swords and knives into Bilbo's arms as they pushed their way into his house. The brunette proceeded to-- oh-- 

"Excuse me! That is my mother's glory box! Absolutely not! Shoes off, the both of you! And to the bathroom to wash up, this instant!" Bilbo dumped the assorted weapons onto the bench and rounded on the dwarves with hands firmly on his hips. The pair just grinned at him rakishly and quickly left their boots in a pile. They strode off and started opening doors at random. "Fifth door on your right!" Bilbo called after their retreating backs. Then he saw Dwalin and Balin exiting his second pantry with armloads of foodstuffs and Bilbo rushed off to find out what in the blazes was-- 

His bell rang madly before cutting off with a clamor and clack. Had someone just-- did they just rip his doorbell off the eve? Bilbo scuttled back to his front door, quite red in the face. He opened his round door but had to leap back to avoid being squashed under the _pile_ of dwarves that fell into his foyer. Their cries and swears and oaths were so onerous that Bilbo stood frozen and didn't offer anyone a hand up. But once everyone (and goodness they were a crowd) was up and brushed off and unhurt, they launched into bows and introductions and poor Bilbo was unable to keep anyone straight, and _oh no!_ one by one, they reached for his Mark.

By the time they were all through and had run off down the hall toward the kitchen, from where a great clamorous commotion was raging, Bilbo had to brush the swords aside and take a seat on the bench. His eyes were streaming and he was temporarily blind from the afterglow of the onslaught of Charter marks. A loud crash echoed down the hall, followed by raucous laughter, and Bilbo fought to bury his face in his hands. Then he saw Gandalf lean down and look through the open door. "This is your idea of tea, I take it?" Bilbo fought to keep the growl from his voice. 

\---

With the slapdash supper soundly devoured, the dishes miraculously clean and unharmed, and the last chords of that ridiculous song still ringing in his ears, Bilbo was at a loss for words. He stared at his spotless kitchen. That-- that was good. That was considerate. Maybe they did have some manners in them after all. 

_Rap! Rap!_

The dwarves' laughter cut off abruptly. Gandalf, almost amused, declared, "He's here." 

Bilbo once more bustled up to his front door. The dwarf on his front step took one look at him and strode into his house, calling, "Gandalf! You said this place was easy to find. If not for the mark, I would still be lost." 

"Mark?" Bilbo huffed, "What mark? I just painted that door this week."

That brought a cold blue-eyed glance upon him. 

Gandalf cleared his throat, "Ah, yes, that would be the mark I put there. Bilbo Baggins, may I introduce Thorin Oakenshield, the leader of this company." 

"He looks more like a green grocer than a Binder," the strange dwarf had ther teremity to say. He, like the other dwarves, wore his long hair swept back from his forehead, the Charter Mark there easily visible glowing faintly against his swarthy skin. 

As Bilbo puffed up with irritation, Gandalf growled, "You needed a Binder and I found you a Binder, Master Oakenshield. Whether you feel he looks the part is neither here nor there."

The dwarf stared at Bilbo. Bilbo stared back. Finally, this Thorin growled, "Well?" And Bilbo tipped his head back with a loud groan. Then he pulled his bangs back, glaring at this Thorin the whole while, and he watched as a massive, hairy, be-ringed hand reached for his forehead before he too brushed his fingers over the dwarf's Mark. 

He was swamped by the flood of burning gold marks-- so many marks that he could not even tell what they were for. He was downing in a sea of gold. 

And then the moment passed, and Bilbo swayed on his feet. 

Then one if the passing ~~invaders~~ dwarves, the one without a beard or braid to speak of, added cheerfully (entirely too cheerfully in the light of that thunderous scowl) "Maybe this Binder lures them in under false pretenses. I'm certainly not afraid of the look of him. Maybe being underestimated is his strength!" 

The new dwarf didn't seem any more impressed with this theory than Bilbo. The beardless (younger?) dwarf held up both hands and slinked away. Bilbo was unable to withstand Thorin's glower when it was once more turned on him and he looked away. Then he caught sight of one of his mother's Westfarthing crockery pitchers being _pitched_ across the dining room, and he dashed off with a yelp. Confound these dwarves, the lot of them! 

Thorin glowered now at Gandalf, who merely twinkled at him and puffed out a trio of concentric smoke rings. Then Thorin gave up and hung his coat on the full coat rack, caught it before it could topple over from the weight, and stomped off in a strop. As he moved through polished wood halls, catching glimpses of the richly appointed rooms as he passed, Thorin's stomach clenched. The long, lean years had been carved into his ribs. This house only confirmed that this plump little pampered thing had no place setting foot beyond his garden gate. 

He heard his Company before he saw them, but their rabble rousing ceased when he stood in the doorway, their quick attempts to regain their dignity not unnoticed. Thorin sat down and tucked into his dinner with a little grace. The wizard followed and sat down to table, too. All were now accounted for, even the would-be-Binder was tucked into a nook along the wall. 

Balin asked, "What news from Ered Luin? Did they all show?"

Thorin sighed quietly. "Oh aye, envoys from all seven kingdoms came." He tried to ignore the murmurs of fruitless hope and focused instead on chewing his roast. 

Dwalin prompted, "And? What did they say? Will others be joining us?" 

Thorin put down his fork and wiped his mouth, shaking his head. "They say this quest is ours and ours alone." 

Over the sounds of hurt grumbling, he heard the Binder ask timidly, "Qu- quest? What quest?" 

Thorin leveled him with a dark look. "To reclaim Erebor, of course." 

Bilbo gulped and gaped. "Er- Erebor? The same Erebor that was lost to a dragon?" 

Bofur chimed in, "Oh aye, the chiefest of calamities, Smaug the Terrible." 

...

After that talk of dragons (and after falling into a dead faint) Bilbo sat in his favorite armchair with his dressing gown wrapped tightly around his middle, clutching a mug of tea to his chest. He couldn't meet Gandalf's eye. The wizard seemed far too annoyed with him. 

"Look, I'll be alright, I just need to sit quietly for a moment." 

Gandalf scoffed, "You have been sitting quietly for far too long! You've changed, Bilbo. When did your larder and your mother's dishes become so important to you? You have the education and a duty--" 

Bilbo sat bolt upright. "I can't just go running off. I am a _Baggins_ of Bag End--"

"You are also a Took. You are your mother's son."

Bilbo's face bleached white. He said coldly, "If it's the family business you're after, you can go consult Fortinbras. I turned from that path long ago." 

Gandalf made to reply, but then a quiet echo of Saraneth filled the dark room. The fire in the hearth barely illuminated the faces of the thirteen gathered dwarves. They were humming. 

Bilbo felt the faint call of binding tuck gently over his bones, like a warm blanket on a cold evening. 

Then Thorin began to sing. 

All the hairs on Bilbo's arms and head stood on end. Goosebumps rolled down his body like ice and lightning, and he felt his soul kindle. When the song ended, the silence was almost trembling. He met Thorin's eyes and almost wept for the loss and pain burning there. Bilbo picked up the contract and-- 

_POP!_

\--nearly crumpled the vellum in his fist when he jumped at the snapping firewood. Bilbo flinched down in his chair even further. The moment was broken. Bilbo stood, quietly said goodnight, and left. The contract, unsigned, remained on the arm chair. 

\---

When Bilbo next woke, he couldn't place why he felt so uneasy. The sun shone through the vines that crawled over his round little window, his sheets were still tucked snuggly underneath his chin, his room (at least) remained intact...

Silence.

The silence wasn't right.

He remembered falling into a fitful sleep to the sounds of quiet chatter and later, snores, but this was the silence of-- Bilbo rose and quietly opened his door-- this was the silence of an empty house. No sign of so much as a bedroll remained. All the plates were washed and put away. The bare pantry and the unsigned contract were the only signs that last night wasn't some fever dream. He rubbed a thumb over the vellum. They were already gone.

He was struck by the memory of the echo of Saraneth, blue eyes in the firelight, and his mother's soft voice asking, "Does the walker choose the path, or the path the walker?" And indecisions be damned, Bilbo tore off through his house like a tornado.

Pack haphazardly packed, the last thing Bilbo grabbed was the set of silver panpipes, kept wrapped in dusty velvet at the bottom of his mathom cabinet. Then he ran down the hill, contract trailing behind him like a banner. In the lane, Hamfast Gamgee called, "Hey! Mr. Baggins, what's wrong?"

Bilbo shouted back, "Tell the Thain I'm off with Gandalf!"

Unseen by Bilbo, Hamfast doffed his hat and shook his head, huffing, "Well I never..."

If Bilbo had had any breath to spare, he'd bemoan how out of shape he'd let himself get. His years of running through the woods were long behind him, and by the time he caught up with the Company ("Wait! Wait!") he had to bend over and fight to not be sick.

Balin rode back and Bilbo held the signed contract up to him. Balin checked the signature, folded the now-rumpled paper neatly, tucked it into his jacket pocket, and said genially, "Welcome to the Company, Master Baggins." The dwarves (save one) cheered. 

Bilbo straightened, uncomfortably sweaty, and saw Thorin, half-turned in his sadle and framed by beams of sunlight. He flinched at the sight of such intense dislike. "Get him a pony," the dwarf called out. 

"Up you get, Mr. Baggins." And he was being _lifted by the pack_ onto a pony by the dwarf in a hat, ah-- Bufir? The dwarf grinned behind his beard. "It's Bofur, Master Binder, no worries. There's thirteen of us and only one of you."

"Thank you," Bilbo said as he squirmed in the saddle, trying and failing to get comfortable. Then he cried, "Oh! Wait! I forgot my umbrella, I'll have to go back."

Thorin just looked hard at him and kicked his pony to a trot.

Bilbo held the reins awkwardly, trying to mimic the other dwarves as they rode past. The fell beast just flicked an ear, lifted a hoof, and pawed the ground. Bofur leaned over and gave the pony a great slap on its rump, and they fell in line with the other dwarves. They rode on, over the hill, and when Bilbo next looked back, he could no longer see Bag End.

\---

Thirteen dwarves, a wizard, and a hobbit rode through the Shire. Bilbo tried not to wince every time someone called him a greeting. The dwarves were clearly uncomfortable with the attention their Binder was attracting. After the last farmer tried to offer Bilbo a picnic basket, Bofur asked, "You're quite the popular fellow, I take it?"

Trying to ignore the memories of the time he rode this way to help his mother fight off the Huorns that had tried to cross the Wall, Bilbo absently replied, "No, my mother was." 

Bofur's face turned beet red and he clamped his mouth shut to stifle a shocked laugh.

Bilbo blinked and cried, "Oh my goodness, not like that!"

Bofur guffawed and Bilbo joined in (slightly hysterically). He wiped a tear from his eye and breathlessly explained, "No, I mean she was beloved here, when she was the Thain."

"What's the Thain?" The one polite dwarf (Ori?) asked, pulling up beside them. 

Bilbo twitched his lips, trying to come up with an explanation. "The Thain protects people."

"So, like a king?" Bofur asked.

Bilbo almost choked on his tongue. "No, goodness, no. We don't have a king." 

Ori seemed taken aback. "But, who rules you?"

Bilbo blinked. "No one. _Rule_ us, why would we need someone to rule us?" He wrinkled his nose and added. "We don't really have any government, really...well I suppose way-back-when, we recognized the King of Arnor, but even then they knew not to stick their noses in our business."

Ori persisted, "Who keeps things in order, then? Who maintains the roads and collects taxes and makes decisions and, and, all that?"

Bilbo was flummoxed. "We keep it all in order. Hobbits love order, you see." He shrugged. "If there's something big that people can't agree about on their own, well, there's the Mayor, who we elect every five years, and there's the Master of Buckland, who's in charge of the Bounders, and there's the Thain." 

Bofur asked, "If your mother was the Thain, does that mean you're the Thain?"

Bilbo blanched and shook his head so hard he almost fell off his pony. "No no no, my cousin Fortinbras is the Thain. I'm a Baggins."

Ori asked hesitantly, "I thought that was your name? Is Baggins a title?" 

"Oh, no, it's my name, it's my family name. Don't you dwarves have family names?"

Bofur nodded, "Most of us here are Longbeards, but mostly we just keep track of who's son of who, unless you count Durin's Folk." He nodded at Thorin and Dwalin, or did he mean Thorin and Fili and Kili? They were all riding in a big group at the front. 

Ori asked, "So what is it about the Baggins name that makes you not the Thain?"

Bilbo, now thoroughly uncomfortable, tried to explain, "The Thain is a Took. My mother was a Took, but I am a Baggins. This isn't normally an issue, because the Thains are almost always male, but my mother-- she--"

Gandalf chimed in, "Your mother was extraordinary."

Bilbo nodded firmly. "Exactly. She was extraordinary. I'm not." Gandalf scoffed. Bilbo said heatedly, "I am a perfectly ordinary hobbit, with ordinary obl--" Bilbo did blanch then and he cried, "Oh! _Oh!_ My tenants! My contracts! Oh Gandalf, how could I just run off!" He groaned into his hands. "Fool of a Took! I'll need to leave instructions for my solicitor--" He devolved into other such incomprehensible ranting. 

"What's all this?" Thorin growled, falling back beside them.

Bilbo wailed, "I'll have to stop by Brandy Hall to speak with the Master before we leave." 

"Absolutely not," Thorin ground out.

"This isn't like a forgotten umbrella!" Bilbo cried. "If I don't make arrangements for my people, they may lose their jobs, their homes! I haven't even bothered to change my will yet, and as it stands, if I go now, then my holdings go to the Sackville-Bagginses! Just imagine! Lobelia would triple the rent and run them off--"

"Speak plainly," Thorin ordered.

Bilbo blinked and took a deep breath. "I am a Baggins of Bag End," he repeated for what seemed the umpteenth time. That meant nothing to these dwarves, clearly. "I own much of the lands in the West Farthing and, well, all of Bagshot Row. The people who live there and the farmers are my tenants. Plus I'm heavily invested in the Old Mill, and well, my employees need to be paid, my tenants will need to be able to stay where they live and work, and in order to _do_ that, I will need to draw up papers that will keep my damned grasping cousins from staging a coup!"

Thorin appraised him coolly. "So you are a Lord amongst your people?"

Bilbo threw his hands up. "Take from that what you will. Yes, if that's the word you need to use to understand!"

"And how far out of the way is this Brandy Hall?" 

"It's not, we'll reach it by evening. You did say you came from Bree before you came to my smial, yes? The Bounders should have brought you there after you crossed the Wall."

Thorin's eyebrows somehow expressed both 'dont be a fool' and 'what are you talking about.' 

Bilbo stuttered, "But-- the Bounders-- if they didn't bring you across the Wall, how did--?"

Thorin frowned at him. "And who do you think made your Wall, Master Baggins? Dwarrow do not need your 'help' to cross that which we made."

Bilbo gaped.

"We make for this Brandy Hall," Thorin declared, then he kicked his pony to a trot and retook the lead.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Over the Wall and into the wild.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from _Sound the Bells_ but Dessa. 
> 
> _Boys, sound the bells_  
>  The sun rose from the west today  
> I doubt we'll see it set 
> 
> _Oh and boys, bear it well_  
>  Put all your paper maps away  
> Mercator here can't help 

By late afternoon, their Company was passing under the cool shade of old trees when a voice cried, "Halt!" Thorin reined in his pony, affronted. 

A pair of Bounders were perched in one of the guard platforms tucked high in a tree. One jumped down to the road, the other swung down from a rope ladder. "What business does a troupe of--"

"Rorimac!" Bilbo called and urged his pony to trot to the front of the line. 

"Bless me, Bilbo!" the Bounder cried, stern face dissolving into a grin. Bilbo slid off his pony, stumbling only a little, and embraced the big blonde lug. 

"So what's all this then?" the other Bounder asked irritably. 

Bilbo glanced at the unfamiliar hobbit and back at his cousin. He gestured over at the wizard and said, "You remember Gandalf, right?" 

Rorimac's smile twisted wryly, "Too right I do." 

"And his friends and I are off, ah, over the Wall." 

Rorimac blinked hard and his shoulders slumped. "Bilbo..."

Bilbo spoke over him, "And I need to stop at Uncle's before I'm off, you see." 

Rorimac scrubbed his hand over his face. "Ah well, I can say I'm really that surprised even." Bilbo stared. "I always knew they were wrong about you, you know. Fort never did see you fight on the Hay the night the Old Forest marched on the Wall." 

Bilbo flushed deep red and stammered, but Rorimac cut him off, "Yeah, yeah, you can try to deny what you're off to, 'not family business' my flat a--" 

"Rori!" Bilbo cried, scandalized. 

His cousin snorted. "Well, if you're off to Brandy Hall, you'd best hurry. Mum's making strawberry shortcake for afters." 

"Really?" Bilbo grinned widely. "When's your shift done?"

"Not til Thursday," Rorimac sighed. "Off with you then. You be sure to come by for tea when you come back, now!" 

Bilbo had to blink hard to keep his tears at bay. He pulled him back for another rough hug, then clambered back onto his pony, and they were off.

Before he could fall back, once they were out of earshot of the Bounders, Thorin asked, "What was all that?" 

Bilbo, lost in his own thoughts, said absently, "That was my cousin." 

Thorin was about to press for more, but they crested the bluff and broke out of the treeline. Across the fertile valley and the broad river below, the Wall stood tall and broad, glimmering even at this distance with the marks built into its very stone. Beyond, the broad, mowed fields separated the Wall from the forest. It was full evening across the wall, the moon rising full and heavy in the purple gloaming. Their road switchbacked down the high bluff, but at the base, Bilbo turned off onto a smaller path. They followed the foot of the bluff for a few minutes before they came to a wooden gate. Inside the fence, flowers spilled out if every corner, the garden bursting with strawberries and asparagus and bright chard. A young hobbit lad came flying out the gate, running from a bench further in the garden, crying, "Bilbo! Bilbo!" 

Said Bilbo once more slid from his saddle to hug the boy. "Hello Merry, my lad! I'm here to see Uncle, can you see to my friends' ponies?" 

"Yessir!" The boy chirped. "I'll bring 'em down to the pasture. You're staying the night, right?"

"Maybe," Bilbo hedged, glancing at Thorin. The dwarves dismounted reluctantly, shouldering their packs. When Merry started leading the ponies down to the pasture, Bilbo turned to Thorin and said quietly, "To be quite honest, I would rather not risk camping overnight near the Old Forest, and we are _not_ risking going over the Barrow Downs at night. If Gorbadoc will let us, we should stay here tonight. If not, then we should camp this side of the Wall." 

Thorin looked like he wanted to argue, but then he nodded. "These are your lands, I will trust in your judgment. But is it very likely the Master will allow strangers to spend the night?"

"Strangers? Certainly not. Companions of mine? Perhaps," Bilbo said and lifted the latch on the gate. 

Thorin stared at his back. Grocer indeed. 

The smial was carved into the bluff, round windows gleaming in the hillside. Honeysuckle, grapevines, and climbing roses covered the sandstone walls. Fauntlings and gardeners filled the paths, the children had few cares, but the adults stared. Some called greetings to Bilbo, who walked on. He led them up a set of stairs carved along the side of the bluff, with no railing to stop their fall to the left and narrow enough that they were forced to climb in single file. As a defensive position, Thorin was impressed. The round front door was cut into the cliff face about thirty feet from the ground. Bilbo politely rang the bell and waited. 

A sandy-haired hobbit lass opened the door and cried, "Bilbo!" 

"My dear Prim!" he cried back. Thorin grit his teeth as this hobbit lass also threw her arms around their Binder. Bilbo let her go with a few pats and said, "I'm here to see Uncle, is he in?" 

"Yes, yes, and please do come in." She nodded to Thorin and held open the door. 

Bilbo took a deep breath and said, "Prim, may I introduce Thorin Oakenshield. Thorin, my cousin Primula Brandybuck. Thorin bowed and Prim, smiling, gave a pert curtsy, but when Thorin started to reach for Prim's Mark, Bilbo laid a firm hand on Thorin's wrist. Thorin froze. 

Primula continued, unaware, "Make yourselves comfortable, I'll go let Da know you're here, and-- oh!" she exclaimed as dwarves kept on coming through the door. "Oh! I'll, ah, also tell Mum that you're here, just in time for dinner." Eyes wide, she bustled off. 

Bilbo turned to Thorin and explained, "Look, I get that dwarves, ah, touch Marks when introduced, but that's _not_ something hobbits do, and I'm not subjecting my cousin to that thirteen times." 

Thorin, shocked, asked, "How do you learn each others' true names then?" 

"True names, what are you talking about?" 

But they both turned when they heard a loud _Thunk!_ and in unison, cried, "Put that down!" 

Kili gingerly put the soapstone figurine back onto the cabinet, quacking under the combined glares of Thorin and Bilbo. "Sorry Uncle!" Thorin nodded and Bilbo blinked. 

"They're your nephews?" He asked quietly. 

Thorin looked back down at him and nodded. Then he returned to his previous topic. "Your true names, surely hobbits know this?" 

"Mmm, nope, sorry," Bilbo said with some asperity. 

"Your Marks, they show your true self. Why, your Mark, for example, is the basis for all Notice-Me-Not and distraction spells. If you weren't our Binder, then I'd call you a Burglar." Thorin gave a bare hint of a smile. 

"That-- that is-- well, fascinating," Bilbo declared, interested but a little stung. "I had no idea, really. What does yours mean?" 

Thorin blinked down at him. "To dare." 

Prim came back then and invited the Company to the Hall. But first Bilbo cried, "Boots off, please!" and the Company (loudly) obeyed. Prim ushered them into the Hall, the long tables were already half-filled with Bucklanders. Smoke from their pipes hung in clouds amid the high rafters, along with dried herbs, bunches of onions, garlic sets, and batches of round hard tack string through the centers on long poles. The Bucklanders were already in high spirits, but they cut off their merriment with the arrival of the dwarves. 

In the sudden quiet, Prim called, "Bilbo's here with guests, make some room!" Then they were welcomed with a cheer. Benches scraped back on the stone floor, dwarves were shown to seats, and above it all, Prim raised her voice, "There's a washroom down the hall, third door on the left!" To Bilbo, she said more quietly, "Da's in the library if you want to see him now." Then she bustled off into the kitchen. 

While the Company made themselves at home, Thorin looked a question at Bilbo, who nodded his head back toward the door. Gandalf joined them in the hallway without a word, and together, they followed Bilbo down a curving hall and up a tightly twisting set of spiral stairs, then down another curving hallway. Oil lamps in highly polished sconces kept the space brightly lit, and art of all kinds lined the curving walls. Then Bilbo led them into a solemn library, all dark woods and red leather chairs and plush green carpet. All the walls were lined with books but one, which was solid glass. The valley, the Brandywine, and the Wall were clearly visible in the rich evening light. Across the Wall, stars shone in the full night. An old hobbit stood looking out the window, silver hair set aglow by the lamps, and when he turned, he smiled warmly at Bilbo. 

"Hello Uncle," Bilbo said ruefully. "I'm sorry to spring guests on you."

"You don't need an invitation to visit, my lad," the hobbit said with a crooked grin. "It's been too long as it is. Come in, take a seat! Hello Gandalf, you old rascal, you stay away from my wife this time." 

Thorin nearly choked, but Gandalf chuckled, "Mirabella only wanted to follow Belladonna, Gorbadoc, I was barely involved." 

Bilbo groaned and quickly said, "Uncle, please meet Thorin Oakenshield, Thorin, Gorbadoc Brandybuck, Master of Buckland." 

Gorbadoc extended a hand. "Well met, Wallmaker." Thorin shook his hand, remembering Bilbo's admonishment against touching Marks with discomfort. The Master gave Thorin a long, piercing look before he turned his sharp eyes back to Gandalf and said, "So you've moved on to the next generation of Tooks now, eh?" 

Bilbo, flustered and a little desperate to avoid old embarrassing stories about his mother or worse, _his_ childhood, hurriedly said, "Yes, yes, that's why I'm here, Uncle, it was all very sudden and I didn't have the chance to settle my affairs before we left Hobbiton, but we need to be off over the Wall tomorrow."

Gorbadoc smiled sadly. "Can't say I'm surprised, my boy, not really. Well, I'll call in one of my solicitors after dinner and we can draw up a power of attorney. How long will you be gone?" 

"Well, if you haven't heard from me in a year--"

"Ah. Did you want to write up a new will?"

"Yes, and I think Prim will need to be present, too." 

"Oh indeed?" Gorbadoc asked shrewdly, eyebrows raised. 

"Not like that!" Bilbo cried, flushing. "I mean, Mirabella is my favorite aunt, and Prim has been helping run the Hall since she was a tween. Of all the family, I trust her to know how to run Bag End and-- and treat my tenants well."

Gorbadoc hummed noncommittally. "You know there will be disputes about naming an heir outside the Baggins line." 

Bilbo grunted. "Spread word that she was my darling betrothed, if she doesn't object, then. No one will believe it anyway." 

"They'll believe it for propriety's sake, if nothing else," Gorbadoc replied serenely. Bilbo's ears were bright red. Thorin watched all this utterly bemused. Then the Master clapped his hands and said, "But let's not borrow trouble. You just be sure to keep in touch with us within the year." Bilbo nodded firmly. Gorbadoc stood. "Now, my stomach is telling me it's time for dinner. We'll feed you up and find you rooms for tonight, and in the morning, we'll send you over the Wall." 

Thorin looked at Bilbo, who nodded back. Then they all followed the Master back down to the Hall. The dwarf stared at Bilbo's back as they passed through the rich halls, caught between chagrin that he'd so badly underestimated the halfling and being even more convinced that this high-born lad had no place riding with them into the wild. He was too soft, he wouldn't last if he was taken away from his gardens and his books. He belonged in warm, snug halls, surrounded by his kind. The raucous cheers that went up when they walked into the Hall only served to further cement this into Thorin's mind. Hobbits raised their tankards and called, "To Bilbo!" "To the Thain's son!" "To the Flower Lad!" To Thorin's amusement, Bilbo clapped his hands to his burning cheeks.

As they passed the dwarves' table, Fili and Kili tried to squeeze open a place, crying, "Bilbo, here, we've a spot for you!" Thorin's eyebrows shot up.

But Bilbo smiled, patted their shoulders and said, "I'll be with you for every meal for a long time after this. So thank you, but tonight is for my family." Then he followed the Master up the row to the high table. After that pronouncement, Thorin hung back. If tonight was for Bilbo's family... Thorin took a seat in the space between his nephews. 

Kili turned to him and said excitedly, "Uncle, I think we really have a chance now."

Thorin blinked and stared at his nephew. "What do you mean?" 

"With Bilbo? We might really have a chance!" 

Fili chimed in, "You didn't hear it, Uncle. The hobbits were telling us about the last time the Old Forest marched on the Shire. Bilbo saved them."

Thorin reached for someone's tankard. "He did what? How?" 

Kili jumped in, "The hobbits were saying that the the Old Forest is dangerous, that its trees can move, and nothing but fire can stop them. A while back, they stormed the Wall and attacked the Shire, and Bilbo's mother came as the Thain, and Bilbo was just a boy, but he came too, and everyone was having a hard time, because _who_ can fight _trees_ , but then Bilbo remembered that daisies can be used as powerful bindings, so he made a bunch of daisy chains and used the Charter to make them bigger, and they were able to use the giant daisy chains as ropes and nets to bring the...the horns? -- Fi, what was their word?"

"Huorns!" 

"Yeah, the Huorns down so they wouldn't keep smashing and stomping on folks. And Bilbo was only _twenty five_! He did all that when he was a _baby!_ " 

Thorin stared across the Hall at the halfling, whose cheeks were currently being cupped by an older hobbit lass, whose steel-grey curls were pinned into a messy bun on the top of her head. He looked around at the cheer on the other Bucklanders' faces as they too stared at their Binder. Thorin took another drink. It just did not seem possible. Then a curtain opened into the kitchen and the hobbits got in line table by long table to get at the dinner buffet. The large family at the high table remained deep in conversation as plates were brought out to them. 

\---

In the morning, the Bucklanders strode out with the Company to the edge of the Wall. Every off-duty Bounder accompanied them, their loping pace easily keeping up with their ponies' steady trot. The Master and his wife, Mirabella, rode ponies alongside Bilbo, and when at last they stopped at the Wall, the halfling allowed himself one hug from each and a kiss on the cheek from his aunt. This close to the Wall, Thorin could feel the buzz and hum of the Charter-infused stone against his skin, in fact, the marks shone brighter as he approached the Wall. There was no gate. The road simply ended, dirt meeting rock. Too-aware of the crowd of halflings staring with wonder, Thorin placed a heavy palm against the stone and growled the Khuzdul words as softly as he could. Then the stone and mortar glowed and flared and once more the way opened, the arched gate burrowing through the Wall like a tunnel. Thorin remounted his pony, cast one last look behind him at the gathered hobbits, and rode into the gate. 

Bilbo, blinking back tears, watched as Thorin opened the gate. Now, it had been decades since the last time he'd crossed the Wall, but he knew that the marks did not blaze like a lighthouse beam for the Bounders who opened the gate. In fact, he noticed that the marks faded as the other dwarves rode through the Wall. 

"Stay strong, Bilbo," Mirabella said through her tears. "And be good." Bilbo nodded, swallowed hard, and nudged Myrtle on and into the gate and under the Wall. The hairs on his head stood on end from the strength of the marks, and then they were through. 

It had been early morning in the Shire. On this side of the Wall, it was closer to mid-afternoon and noticibly colder. Bilbo shivered in his fine velvet coat. Thorin dismounted and once more pressed his palm to the stone, but he looked up at Bilbo and ordered, "Move away, Binder, this is not for your ears." Bilbo huffed and rode up the line to join Gandalf. If _that_ was how the next few months would be, then he should really consider turning right around right now. 

Gandalf quirked a little smile at Bilbo's irritated expression and explained, "The language of the dwarves is one of their most sacred secrets. They are not allowed to speak it in the presence of outsiders." 

Then Thorin rode past him, growling, "Move on!" 

Bilbo stifled a sigh. 

\---

Bilbo's days began to blur together in their unpleasantness. His body was not accustomed to riding, and he was shocked by the places one wouldn't intuitively think were necessary for riding. His belly objected most loudly to the dwarves' insistence on just three meals, three! And lunch a cold one passed on pony back! His sense of propriety was horrified by the dwarves' deplorable manners: he never knew if they were fighting or exchanging endearments. They seemed to bandy blows instead of handshakes, headbutts instead of hugs, insults instead of encouragements, but while Bilbo's sensibilities were offended, he couldn't help but feel put out that he wasn't included. Of course, he was still practically a stranger, but as he watched yet another affectionate tussle, he couldn't help the dull ache of ...loneliness? that bloomed beneath his chest. 

The only one who remained aloof was their distinguished leader, who ignored these antics unless the group got a bit too rowdy, and then he would roughly call for quiet. 

Indeed. If Bilbo felt like a perpetual outsider, then Thorin Oakenshield was a veritable loner, often sitting at a (safe) distance, looking out over the hills, head wreathed in smoke as he puffed on his pipe. 

And, alright, yes, Bilbo knew himself well enough, and was honest enough with himself, that he could admit to himself that he paid a bit too much attention to the leader of their company. But really, he felt that it was a bit like observing a fine painting or a colorful sunset...for all that one looked, one never made a whit of difference, and was, as such, completely harmless. 

On one such night, Bilbo himself was nearly asleep but still aware of Thorin's silhouette against the moon-bright night. A few of their Company already snored on. The dry wood barely snapped as it burned. The wind on the Ettenmoor soughed mournfully. A warg howled in the distance.

Bilbo sat straight up with a jerk, clutching the silver panpipes in one hand. 

Fili and Kili, whose bedrolls were set up not far from his, sat up too. 

Then a high, distant shriek rent the night, and Bilbo cried, "Orcs? _Here?_ " He clutched the panpipes with sweaty palms. The only way to send the bloodthirsty creatures back to Death was with spelled steel or with pipe, and he knew that if they came in any number, he'd be outmatched. Fili and Kili seemed to take his apprehension for confusion, though, and they started to explain. 

Fili said menacingly, "There'll be dozens of them out there. The moors are crawling with them."

Kili jumped in, "They strike in the wee small hours, when everyone's asleep, quick and quiet like. No screams...just blood." 

Bilbo shuddered violently and looked out over the moors in vain. He couldn't see in this darkness. Then he heard the two ...absolute clot-heads start to _snigger_. 

Then Thorin growled, "You think a night raid by orcs is funny?" 

Fili and Kili both shut up instantly. Kili mumbled, "We didn't mean anything by it." 

Thorin said coldly, "No, of course you didn't. You know nothing of the world, and yet there's little hope that you won't get to experience just that before this quest is over." Then he stalked off, no doubt to glare off into the darkness.

Balin sat up from his nearby bedroll. "Don't mind him, laddie, you know he had more cause than most to hate orcs."

Fili and Kili both looked suitably chastised. Bilbo couldn't help but ask, "What do you mean?"

Balin stroked his forked beard and looked long at Thorin's back, seemingly deciding whether to share this story with their new Binder. Finally, he said gravely, "After the dragon took Erebor, King Thror sought to establish a new home for our people. Well, and when I say 'new' I mean old, but our folk have not inhabited Moria for centuries. Anyways," he cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Moria was infested with orcs, led by a dead thing itself, a free magic adept that had clawed its way back to Life and called itself Azog the Defiler. That thing had sworn to wipe out the Line of Durin. Before the gates, Azog struck down King Thror, Thrain was overwhelmed-- killed or carried off as prisoner, we could never find out. Thorin witnessed all this and was unable to stop it. Our armies were leaderless. We faced a rout. Then Thorin charged Azog. He too was struck down by the Defiler's mace, his shield shattered. But then he took up an oaken branch and fought on. Thorin cut off the Defiler's arm, and the steel was enough to send the fell creature back to Death. Thorin rallied our forces and drove the orcs back to the gate, but there was no victory that night. Our dead were beyond the count of grief. Yet through it all, we gained a new king, one who I would follow to the ends of Middle Earth."

Bilbo, rapt with the tale, was quiet for a moment. Then he blinked and asked, "Wait-- Thorin is the Wallmaker King?" 

Balin looked equally taken aback. Then he chuckled, "Well, laddie, we'll try not to take it for granted that you know what we know." 

Bilbo chuckled back weakly and bade Balin goodnight. He turned onto his side, wrapped his bedroll tighter around his shoulders, and watched the tense frame of Thorin's back where he stood staring out into the night. 

Rain besieged them the next day. Bilbo, already cold, tired, and sore, sat miserably on Myrtle's back and could do nothing as he was steadily soaked to the skin. By evening, nausea clawed at his throat, and Bilbo could _feel_ a fetid, frigid draft from Death growing stronger. 

Finally, he croaked, "Something's wrong."

Thorin looked back over his shoulder, scowling. "Of course something's wrong, Master Binder, we're passing Weathertop."

Bilbo's lips tightened at the dismissal. "No, you don't understand, there's an open door in Death nearby. Anything could come through." 

Gandalf piped up, "Weathertop was once the Charter Stone of Amon Sûl. And the rain gives us some protection at the moment, as you well know." 

Bilbo was nearly sick from the back of his pony. A Charter Stone could only be broken by the spilled lifeblood of a Charter mage. 

Thorin only ordered coldly, "I suggest you steel yourself, Binder, there are many broken stones in the wild now." 

\---

They pushed on past evening to put as much distance between Weathertop behind them. It was nearly dark when they finally stopped at the ruin of an old homestead. Bilbo could still feel the _wrongwrongwrong_ like a stranger's cold fingers brushing down the back of his neck, and now it was compounded by a new dread. He couldn't tell if he was feeling something new or if he'd just been within range of the broken stone for too long. Then Gandalf and Thorin quarreled, and the wizard stomped off in a huff. Bilbo shook his head to try to clear it and helped set up camp. It was full dark when Bombur asked him to bring two bowls to Fili and Kili on watch. 

Bilbo called out, "Fili! Kili! Sup--!" and he nearly jumped out of his skin when a hand clapped over his mouth. 

Kili caught both bowls without spilling too much, but his triumphant _Ha!_ was cut off by Fili's quiet, "We have a wee problem."

Bilbo tossed his head and freed himself from the dirty palm. "You don't really mean 'wee' do you?" 

Fili shifted, and Kili said slowly, "Well, two of the ponies are missing, and we bet they didn't do that..." 

Bilbo knew by now that the dwarves had superior night vision, but he was still a bit miffed when the boys pointed out into the darkness. He called up a small light, the Charter mark flying from his fingertip and floating over to show the uprooted trees. He quickly cancelled the light and fought not to freeze. Something _big_ had already been here and gone, and he doubted it wouldn't come back. He held up a hand to stop the boys from interrupting him, and he sent out his focus. 

Eyes closed, ignoring the ill-feeling from the distant broken stone, ignoring the lingering but long old deaths of the settlers, ignoring the bright Charter Marks of the assembled Company, Bilbo reached for that other bad feeling from earlier. And yes, now he could distinguish the broken stone behind him from the other, somehow stoney (flinty, gravelly, dusty cordite and quartz and mica in boulders soaked in the waters of Death) 

Bilbo's eyes snapped open. He ignored Fili and Kili's quizzical looks and said, "Trolls. More than one of them. I'm getting your uncle."

But before he could turn away, both boys surged forward and caught his arms. Kili stammered, "There's no need for that, r-really. We already have our Binder, and these trolls can't be allowed to prey on any other travelers." 

Bilbo glared at them, then he tugged his damp coat more snuggly over his shoulders, pulled out his panpipes and silver dagger, and slipped silently off. 

Kili watched him go in horror. "No no nono, I didn't think that would work!" 

Fili punched him in the arm, hard. "Well it _did_ work, and now our Binder went haring off on his own. You get to go tell uncle, now! Go! Before he's killed!" 

Bilbo knew it wasn't a matter of simply walking up and blowing a note and _poof!_ no more troll. He wasn't stupid, thank you very much. You didn't just walk up to a troll, cut off its head, and whistle it back to Death. But there was always more than one way to solve a problem, and oftentimes that meant looking at it sideways. Three quarreling trolls were kicking up a fuss around a cookpot, the fetid stench of Death and Free Magic enough to make Bilbo almost retch. They made enough of a racket that they didn't notice the whineys of the ponies as Bilbo sawed through the rough ropes holding the crude paddock together. Once he swung the gate open, the ponies ran off, hopefully back to the herd. Bilbo slipped back into the shadows and thought hard. He didn't have the proper tools to bind the trolls outright. They were too strong, his panpipes were too weak, and while, academically, he knew _in theory_ which bells to use and which way to wield them, but, well, the bells had been missing for generations so he'd just as well wish for the moon-- the moon. The _sun_. The trolls would turn back to stone if they were touched by sunlight. The night was still young though, he would need to find a way to keep them there. Trolls were supposed to be as thick-headed as they were thick-skulled, so hopefully they wouldn't notice his little flow of Charter as he began drawing the marks for a diamond of protection. He grinned as he cast the first cardinal mark. The neat thing about protection was that it worked both ways: it could keep keep something out or it could keep something in. 

He slipped quietly through the trees on the edge of the bright clearing, calling on all his hobbitish skills for going unseen, but befor he could cast the final north mark, the dwarves attacked. Bilbo spared a moment to cry out to the stars, " _Really?_ " before he turned and started slashing fingers and knees and toes with his little dagger. He didn't dare finish the diamond of protection now, not with half the Company swarming the trolls and the other half surging back from where they'd been tossed, like some mad game of king-of-the-hill. 

Then one of the trolls caught him by the arm, lifting him high into the air. Bilbo slashed with his little dagger, and the troll dropped him with a whine, but before he hit the ground, another troll caught his leg. Before he could react, all three trolls had him by each limb, stretching him out like a butterfly on a card. 

Kili yelled, "Bilbo!" 

One of the trolls snarled, "Drop yer arms, or we'll rip 'is off!" 

To Bilbo's shock, Thorin dropped his sword. There was a great clatter as all the rest of the Company did the same. 

Bilbo was the first to be tied in the sack. The worst was that he'd dropped his silver dagger in the fight. One by one, the snarling dwarves were bundled and tied. Then one of the trolls started to drag Bofur and Dwalin over to the cook fire, readying ropes and a spit. 

The head troll grumbled, "Don't bother trying to cook 'em, just squash 'em into chili!"

One of the others shook his head, "No, imagine how good they'll taste roasted and basted with sage and rosemary." 

Dwalin tried kicking the troll dragging him, but it did no good. 

_Distraction! Distract them!_ Bilbo babbled internally. "Wait!" He cried. The troll in charge of cooking actually paused to look at him, waiting. "You can't just cook dwarves freshly caught..." He stumbled. "They're, ah-- they're tough and gristly. Not tasty in the least!" The head troll started to wave his hand with a disgruntled _Bah!_ but Bilbo rushed on, "You need to soak them in running water first!" 

The cooking troll peered down at him closely. "I don't like running water, though." Then he trying Bofur to the spit. 

Bilbo cried, "What about fresh parsley? That'll mellow their gamey-ness down."

But instead, the cooking troll stood up and smiled. "You're right!" 

"You'll have to go find some, it's essential," Bilbo declared firmly. 

"Oh but I just picked some yesternight, this is perfect." He walked over to his pack. 

The dwarves were all by now screaming in their muffled bags, and Bilbo hoped they wouldn't kill him before the trolls did. 

"Wh-what do you have for basting though? These dwarves are lean and dry, you won't get anything juicy from them!" Bilbo tried desperately. 

"Why are you listening to it?" The head troll groused. 

Bilbo drew himself up haughtily. "Excuse me , I'll have you know that I'm known as a fine cook. My hospitality is--"

"Yeah but what do you know about cooking dwarf?" The third troll asked whinily, ignoring the blows and kicks that Dwalin was landing. 

"Meat is meat, wherever it comes from. Besides, have you smelled them? You're going to need something a lot stronger than rosemary if you're going to insist on avoiding soaking them." 

The cooking troll whined, "If we're gonna have 'em, we should really do it right. Then we can remember 'em when it's back to mutton day after day."

"Well _I'm_ not bringin' 'em to water!" The third troll shuddered. 

The troll leader snarled, "The little ferret is takin' us all for fools!" 

Simultaneously, Bilbo yelped, "Ferret?" while the cooking troll cried, "Fools?" And then Gandalf called, "The dawn will take you all!" 

He stood atop a boulder above and slammed his staff down. The boulder cracked in two and sunlight flooded the clearing. The trolls screamed. Their skin smoked and petrified and they collapsed with the awful shriek of stone-on-stone, until at last they were still. The awful stone-sensation in Bilbo's mind ceased and he swayed with relief. 

Then he rounded on Fili and Kili, who were kicking the sacks off their feet. "What was all that? First you tell me _not_ to get reinforcements, no. You tell me to bind them, then you interrupt with a full charge!"

"We were trying to rescue you!" Kili cried. 

"You were taking too long!" Fili added. 

Bilbo rubbed his forehead. "You don't know much lore, do you? What's the best way to get rid of a troll?" He swept his hand angrily over the three new boulders. 

Thorin watched gravely. "So all that was a distraction?" 

"Yes, of course. I _had_ been trying to trap them when I was interrupted, but alls well in the end." Bilbo started to search the ground for his missing silver dagger. 

But Thorin said quietly, "That was quick thinking. Well done." Bilbo stared at him, stock still, before Thorin nodded and walked off. 

Gandalf grumbled, "Trolls so far from the mountains, what next! They must have had a way to move about out of the light. Look for a cave nearby!" 

And indeed, that was just what they found. The acrid stench of Free Magic and the sickly smell of rot wafted up at them, but they could see the glimmer if gold inside. Coughing and gagging, the dwarves took one look at the chests filled with coins and started digging a hole. When Dwalin gave them a haughty look, Bofur cheekily said, "We're making a long term deposit! It'd be a shame if someone else came along and got this before we could come back for it." 

Looking through the stacked piles of weaponry, Thorin stopped at a pair of sheathed swords, covered in dust and cobwebs. "These were not made by trolls." 

He held one sword out to Gandalf and picked up the other, drawing the blade a few inches to read its maker's mark. He made a face, growled, "Elves," and made to throw the blade back. 

Gandalf chided, "Don't be a fool, that is good steel," as he examined his own longer, thinner blade. "Forged by the High Elves in Gondolin! How in Arda did trolls come by these?" 

Bilbo, smarting over the loss of his mother's silver dagger, picked through the weaponry that lined the walls, all of which was much too big for him. Dwarves could swing swords built for the big folk, clearly, but he decidedly could _not_. Then he stepped on something hard beneath the scattered leaf litter. He gently scraped the detritus away with his foot and saw a plain, dusty, sheathed blade. Bilbo knelt to heft it. It was much smaller and lighter than the swords held by Thorin and Gandalf, a nearly perfect fit for him. He drew the blade a few inches and gasped at the Charter marks that flared across the metal. 

Gandalf looked over and chuckled, "Ah, a matched set!" And Bilbo noticed that the sheath and the maker's mark on the blade were the same as Thorin's sword. "Well, a dagger will suit you for a sword very well indeed." Bilbo thought that the wizard was entirely too pleased with himself, but he ran a hand down the flat of the sword, feeling the Charter marks glow. When he looked again, there was a new inscription on the blade, in a variant of Tengwar script he could not read. But as he watched, the marks faded again. Bilbo pushed the blade back into its sheath with a satisfied snap and made for the fresh air outside. 

A robin dive-bombed Gandalf as soon as they stepped out of the cave. Bilbo yelped, but the bird just landed on the wizard's shoulder and appeared to start relaying messages in his ear. Bilbo shook his head and wondered if he would ever stop being surprised on this journey. 

A shriek and a crash rent the morning, the ponies screamed and ran, and one of the dwarves yelled, "Orcs!" 

Bilbo ran forward. Gloin swung his great war-axe into the skull of a warg and Thorin decapitated the orc. The another warg and rider crested the ridge. Bilbo fumbled for his panpipes, drew a deep breath, and blew with all his might. 

Saraneth caught the warg and rider mid-leap, their inanimate corpses falling to the ground and collapsing into dust and grave mould. Around him, dwarves shouted with glee. But then another and another warg and rider topped the hill, and oh, Bilbo was in trouble, because he could only focus on one at a time. He drew frantic breath and blew, one warg and orc crumbling to dirt, but the other nearly got within biting range before Dwalin managed to cut down the warg. Nori quickly dispatched the orc. 

In the ensuing quiet, they held position for a long moment, and then the dwarves began clapping him roughly on his back and shoulders, cheering. But then a new chorus of warg howls sounded, nearby and terrible. 

"There's too many!" Thorin called. "Run!"

They ran.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Company reaches Rivendell and gain some answers. Mostly, they're happier for the food.

They broke out of the tree line and ran across the barren moor, weaving between the standing rocks. Gandalf led them, but poorly. He kept changing directions, and Bilbo's throat clenched when an odd turn showed five warg riders burst out of the forest. He yelped and ran faster. He heard more howls and shrieks behind him. Then he tripped on a rock hidden in the dead grass and landed on his face, skidding, breath knocked clean out of him. As he tried to scramble to his feet, a warg lept over one of the boulders. Before Bilbo could react, the warg sprouted an arrow in its eye, and the orc tumbled from its back with a shriek. When it rose, snarling, it too sprouted an arrow, this time in its throat. Bilbo lurched to his feet and saw Kili wave at him cheerfully with a fist full of arrows. Gandalf distantly cried, "This way!" 

Bilbo caught up with the ragged line of dwarves just in time to see Gandalf jump behind a low rock and disappear. Then Bombur tripped, packs slung over his shoulders scattering. The wargs were too close. Bilbo stopped and turned and blew. His breath was too short though, and while the first warg and rider collapsed into a pile of dust and dirt, the next resisted. Bilbo had to draw breath, and the warg surged forward in the time it took him to re-sound Saraneth. It still fought his will. A warg-captain then. Bilbo frantically snatched another breath and--

Someone wrenched his arm, pulling the pipes away, and cold terror washed down his back (but no, no misfires, no other pipes sounded, but _warg!_ ) Fili had an iron grip on his upper arm, and he dragged Bilbo back to the rock. Bilbo heard the warg hit the ground behind them, saw Kili draw and release another arrow, and finally heard the other dwarves' cries. Bombur lept over the low boulder and...he too disappeared. More wargs snarled behind them, and with a last burst of speed, Bilbo and Fili dove behind the rock and skidded down a sharp incline to fall on a pile of sweaty, out of breath dwarves. 

An ugly warg mug peered down at them from above, but then an arrow pierced its skull from the side, and it tumbled down into the cave to land on a thoroughly disgusted Dori. Bifur neatly decapitated the disoriented orc. The sounds of horns and horses and swords echoed down into the cave. Thorin brushed the white fletchings still embedded in the warg's skull and snarled, "Elves."

Bilbo, blood still ice in his veins, snapped back, "Oh, yes, begrudge the hand that shot the arrow that saved us a lot of grief." The he whirled on Fili and shouted, "And you! Never, _ever_ pull on me when I'm working the pipes, if I had miscast even _one_ of them, I can't-- I might have accidentally sounded Astarael! The _lot_ of us would have been thrown deep into Death!" Bilbo was shaking, pale with two spots of color high on his cheeks. He'd never raised his voice to any of them, and Fili babbled apologies. 

Thorin, however, growled, "And what are you doing with the pipes of a necromancer?" He looked daggers at the silver pipes. "Do you carry those Free Magic abominations?" 

Bilbo angrily showed him the Charter Marks that flowed, ever changing, over the shining surface of the pipes. 

Gandalf absently said, "Thorin Oakenshield, do not question the tools I have provided for you." He didn't take notice of either the hobbit's or the dwarf's affronted expressions, only continued peering down the narrow paths of the cave. "Ah! This way," he called cheerfully.

They wound their way along the narrow crevasse, sunlight filtering palely down from high above. Thin streams of water made the stones slick, and the tight path made for some difficulties with packs and long arms and wide dwarves. Bilbo heard the roar of running water before the path opened upon a lush valley. The dozens of tumbling waterfalls soothed something instinctive inside, and when Bilbo saw the first graceful arches, thin and spindly and impossible, he gaped. 

Thorin halted, though, his face a mask of utter dislike. Gandalf sighed loudly, "If you cannot let go of your irrational prejudices--"

"I'm not being so needlessly petty as you seem to think, Tharkûn. They will try to stop us," Thorin interrupted. 

"And what of it? They can try, and then you can ignore their hospitality and imagine that you're raiding their supplies and causing much inconvenience. But you _do_ need to resupply, and your Company need rest, so can we please move on?" 

Bilbo had to hide a smile at the face Thorin made, because at that moment, he looked so much like his nephews that it hurt. When their leader at last walked forward, Bilbo hung back and found Fili. He hesitantly put a hand on the dwarf prince's shoulder, awkwardly patting a few times, and said, "I'm sorry I yelled. You were trying-- you _did_ save me, and you didn't know. About the pipes I mean."

Fili looked down at him and nodded with relief. "I've never seen wargs or orcs taken down like that. Where did you get those pipes?"

Bilbo shifted his pack uncomfortably. "They've been in the family for generations." 

Fili nodded blithely and just jerked his thumb at one of the hilts visible over his shoulder. "My swords belonged to my father. Kili's bow belonged to our other uncle. We know the value of family heirlooms." His smile faltered. "Not that we've many left."

Bilbo hesitantly said, "We'll get them back."

Fili beamed down at him, clapped him hard on the shoulder, and cried, "We will indeed. We'll slay that wyrm and get it _all_ back. Then we'll never go hungry again."

A pit opened up in Bilbo's stomach. Oh, Bilbo knew that he'd been privately criticizing the grasping greed of the dwarves. Everyone knew they put too high a value on gold and gems, and he'd been silently judging the Company's constant emphasis on the treasure of Erebor. But who was he to have sat snug in his smial, surrounded by plenty, to judge the 'avarice' of those who had nothing? _We'll never go hungry again_. That treasure seemed much more valuable now. 

In a single file, they crossed a narrow bridge so delicately wrought that it appeared to be spun sugar, nothing so hard as stone, and the rush of the waterfall below made his head spin. The fine cross-hatching below his bare feet kept the wet stone from becoming too slippery. Across the bridge, they gathered in a tight ring in the courtyard as a fine, tall elf lord slowly descended the steps. Even the stairs were ornately carved, Bilbo noticed privately, in awe of the sheer beauty here. 

The elf greeted Gandalf in Sindarin, of which Bilbo was able to catch the basic drift.

Gloin snarled, "Does he offer us insult?" 

Bilbo sighed. "No, Gloin, he offers us food." What reaction was the elf hoping to achieve? It was abominably rude to use a language your guests did not. 

The elf, who was in fact not a lord, but Lord Elrond's steward, Lindir, showed the still-suspicious dwarves to their rooms. They rushed off with loud hoots and a clatter when they were informed that baths would be prepared for them. To Bilbo, Lindir said, "Leave your things with the sendings, they will see that your clothes are laundered." 

Bilbo smiled broadly. "Le hannon." 

Lindir smiled more easily back. "You are most welcome." He nodded and shut the door behind him. 

Inside the ornately decorated room, a pair of Charter sendings prepared a large brass bath. Their white habits were richly embroidered with the elves' golden seven-pointed stars, and their ghostly hands swam with thousands upon thousands of shifting Charter marks as they carried pitchers of warm water from the pot over the hearth. Bilbo walked slowly into the room, set his dirty pack on the floor next to his (giant) bed, and started to peel off his grungy clothes. One of the sendings, apparently fed up with his slow progress, pulled off his red coat with a sharp jerk. Bilbo fought back a yelp. The sending backed off but held out its arms for his dirty clothes, so Bilbo stripped quickly to avoid another brush of those tingling hands. 

Standing at the edge of the tub, he trailed a dirty hand in the water and winced at how hot it was, but the impatient sending just pointed forcefully at the bath, so Bilbo got in before he was tossed in. The water was too hot, but the heat immediately soaked into his sore muscles and he didn't fight back his groan. He dunked his head back unde the water, then lent back against the high wall of the tub and just soaked. 

The sending didn't allow for that though, and ghostly hands started scrubbing soap through his curls. Bilbo yelped again and sat upright. "Alright, alright! Just let me do it." He held out his hand firmly, and the sending reluctantly relinquished the bar of soap. Bilbo spent some time scrubbing at his filthy hands. The other sending handed him a small scrub brush, which Bilbo took thankfully. Hands (and fingernails!) finally clean, he worked up a thick lather and attacked his tangled curls. 

The water had to be changed three times (he shuddered to remember how much grit and grime filled the first) before Bilbo stepped out and wrapped himself in a fluffy white towel. Since one of the sendings had disappeared with his dirty clothes earlier, it gestured to the folded pile of fresh clothes on the foot of his bed. He rejoiced to find clean underthings, proper-length trousers, and a fresh linen shirt, but his hands stuttered to a stop at the brocade surcoat. The deep blue fabric was richly embroidered with silver keys. He could not accept this. He tried to leave his room clad in only his shirt and trousers, but the sendings both ganged up in him, tugging the surcoat over his head. One of his arms got caught, and a sending yanked his arm through the right hole. Bilbo's ears burned with his blush. The brocade sleeves split over his forearms, the dovetails hanging down out of the way of his sword arms. The surcoat was long enough to end mid-thigh, split at the sides to allow easy movement. The coat had a quarter-collar that was done up with intricate silver clasps. Then a sending clasped a sword belt around his waist and hung his new Elven dagger-sword at his hip. One of the pouches perfectly held his panpipes. 

Once satisfied, the sendings paused to look on him for a moment, before they stepped aside and melted back into the wall. 

Bilbo took a deep breath and wondered how long he could hide in his room. But then his stomach objected to that thought, loudly. He sighed and stepped out into the hall.

"Mr. Boggins, you didn't tell us you were the Abhorsen!" 

Of course Fili and Kili would be the first ones he would run into. Of course Thorin would be with them. Thorin, in fact, turned slowly, shock plain on his face, and Bilbo nearly felt that gaze rove up and down the surcoat. Before Bilbo could unstick his tongue, Thorin said quietly, "Indeed. Well met, cousin." 

This shocked Bilbo into speaking. "Oh! Oh no. I'm not the Abhorsen, well, my mother was, but the office passed to her brother, and my cousin is now--"

"But you are of the Line," Thorin insisted, suddenly livid. "You are of the Line, the Line which we all thought broken, and now you say that there is yet an Abhorsen still living? How can it be that there are orcs and wargs and trolls roaming freely across the western plain?"

"Well now, see here, the Thain-- that is to say what you call the Abhorsen-- he spends more than enough time keeping the Shire safe--"

"You owe a duty to more than the people of the Shire, halfling! I saw you with those orcs and wargs, you have the tools and skill, yet you mean to tell me that you have been shut in your hobbit hole with your ledgers and your books and your maps, and done nothing?" 

"The Book has been gone for twenty generations, the bells for fifteen!" Bilbo cried, incensed. "We have made do with oral traditions and these training pipes, but we have been like children swinging sticks for swords, and while a bludgeon may save you in a pinch, you do not bring a stick to war!" 

The dwarf stepped forward so close he stood chest to chest with Bilbo, more furious than the hobbit had ever seen. Thorin's eyes flashed, voice rumbling like thunder, "And yet I do know the value of a stick in a war." 

Bilbo tucked his chin and would not meet Thorin's glare. After a few tries, he finally croaked, "It was made clear to me that it is not my place. You may see me as a member of the line, but I am a Baggins of Bag End, and we've no more place in Death than a Bracegirdle from Hardbottle." 

"You--" Thorin started to shout, but Bilbo yelled louder. 

" _No!_ You saw me take down a handful of orcs? You didn't see me freeze in the face of the army! Not when it was my fault that my mother died!" In the resulting silence, he shifted, cleared his throat, and self consciously ran his fingers down the embroidered surcoat. "The sendings were most insistent, but they made a mistake."

"The sendings do not make mistakes." Bilbo jumped at the new voice and Thorin stepped back, giving him space. An elf stood in the hallway, elegant in deep purple robes, with his long dark hair half bound away from his face. A circlet of moonstones glowed on his brow. "Welcome to Rivendell, Master Baggins. I am Lord Elrond." Bilbo bowed, chewing frantically at his cheek. Make no mistakes, indeed! But the elf lord continued blithely, "Perhaps what may have been true when you left the Shire is no longer true today. Not all truths are true at all times. It's one of the reasons our foresight is not infallible." 

Lord Elrond turned to a still-fuming Thorin and said serenely, "We have Seen your quest, King under the Mountain. We Saw your arrival tomorrow, or yesterday, and have prepared supplies." 

Thorin, ever-cantankerous, replied, "What quest?" 

Lord Elrond merely smiled and continued unfazed, "We have Seen your success and your failure, but our vision is weak where such evil dwells, so we cannot draw you a map. Tonight we will Show you, and you will have to remember."

Stiffly, Thorin ground, "What could you possibly have to show me?" Bilbo fought the urge to bury his face in his hands. 

Lord Elrond just asked, "You have your key, but where is your door?" 

(Key? What key?) Thorin blanched beneath his shorn beard. 

Lord Elrond, ever serene, declared, "But come, you are weary. Let us take refreshment." He led the three dwarves and Bilbo to a broad balcony alight with gentle sunshine and cooled by the the mist blowing from the waterfalls. The sound was immense, but soothing, and the cunning engineering of the elves made the acoustics such that Bilbo could still hear the voices of the gathered Company perfectly. Of course, that very well could have been purely due to their volume. Not one of them were conversing in tones more quiet than a friendly bello. Bilbo felt his cheeks burn on their behalf, though they appeared to have no such shame. When they saw Thorin appear at the top of the stairs, they sent up a cheer so raucous that a flock of birds took flight. Their king and his nephews triumphantly descended to join their kin. 

"I-- I'm sorry for Thorin's rudeness."

Lord Elrond waved a hand gently. "Don't start apologizing for the behavior of others, Master Baggins, you'll never be able to stop. And you are not responsible for him yet." Bilbo blinked at that, but the elf lord continued, "I'm afraid that the King under the Mountain has suffered ill at the hands of my kin, and, well, the dwarves hold no love for the Clayr."

"Why is that?" Bilbo asked hesitantly as they walked down to the courtyard. 

"I cannot speak for the dwarves of course, but I believe they resent our ability to 'pry' and 'meddle' where we are not wanted." 

Bilbo thought for a moment and said slowly, "From what I've learned of the members of the Company, they seem so fiercely independent...I almost wonder if they're leery of the idea of fate. I mean, if you can see the future, then that mean's future's already set, and where does that leave room for free will?" He shuddered. 

Gandalf joined them then and declared, "And that, Master Baggins, is the truly wonderful thing about this world. For all the fates and powers at work, people can still surprise you. Everyone, _everyone_ always has a choice." 

"Indeed," Elrond said gravely and led them to the high table. Bilbo hesitated at the honor, but Gandalf just leveled him a look from under his bushy eyebrows. Then the wizard caught Thorin's eye, and the Wallmaker King stopped mid-chuckle. His shoulders tensed and squared, and after a moment, he joined them. Bilbo sat rather stiffly between Gandalf and Thorin. An elven harpist struck up a chord, and servers brought out platters of fresh greens, artfully chopped and arranged fruits, cucumbers, asparagus, soft cheeses, early tomatoes, and pickled, thinly sliced fish. Bread baskets were also presented, filled with soft rolls, hard tack, and what looked like slices of shortbread. Small pots of jam and butter and some white dill-scented sauce were placed with delicate little clinks.

Bilbo _knew_ his eyes were too wide, and he _knew_ he tucked in with too much gusto, but oh the _food!_ He tried the pickled fish, cut so thin that it was nearly translucent on the rye tack, and _oh_ the sharp tang was like nothing he'd ever had before, but it was so fresh and bright. 

Thorin stared in shock, and Gandalf and Elrond shared a smile. The dwarf merely picked disdainfully at his plate. After a while, Elrond wiped his hands and said, "Gandalf tells me you discovered great blades in a troll hoard." 

Gandalf added hastily, "I was wondering if you would be able to tell us more about their origins?" 

Elrond asked placidly, "May I see them?"

Thorin hesitated, then reluctantly passed his sword over. Elrond took it with careful hands, unsheathing it a few inches. In awed tones, he said, "This is Orcrist, the Goblin Cleaver, made in the First Age by Celembribor and Narvi. This was in a troll hoard?" He held the blade up to the light, watching the Charter marks shift and shimmer across the metal. "This sword was lost in the fall of Gondolin." 

"Curious that it should come to light now," Gandalf said too cheerfully.

Elrond slid Orcrist fully back into its sheath and handed it back to Thorin. Then he held his hands out to Bilbo, who blinked. "Me? You want to see my dagger?" 

Elrond nodded serenely, and Bilbo awkwardly unslung it from his belt. The blade looked almost comically small in the elf lord's hands. He drew the blade a few inches and cried, "Eliornod! The Abhorsen's Binder! Bilbo Baggins, do not doubt your right, now. This sword was made for the Abhorsen in the First Age. It will glow in the presence of fell creatures. Binder and Cleaver, returned to the world at last! This, with the orcs and wargs and trolls roaming so far from the mountains, this is ill news indeed."

Bilbo, blushing, took back his sword and buried his face in his water goblet.

The rest of the meal passed without incident. When Elrond learned that Bilbo knew Sindarin, he offered to show him the library, which Bilbo accepted happily. Elrond offered Thorin access to his stores. "The evening is yours, but please join me at moonrise. We have much to Show you."

\---

Bilbo and Ori spent a wonderful afternoon in the library. The dwarf did not know Sindarin, but there were a few books in Westron, and Bilbo was happy to share his time with a fellow enthusiast. When the evening light streamed through the wide windows in wide golden beams, Ori surprised Bilbo with a line-and-ink portrait. 

"Ori! Good gracious!" Bilbo stared at the art, in awe with the skill evident, but feeling a queer sort of detachment from the serious, studious warrior portrayed. Ori even picked out the brocade keys in the thrice-cursed surcoat and the curve of Eliornod's hilt at his waist. The young dwarf looked at him eagerly, so Bilbo added, "Your work is exquisite." Ori beamed and blushed. 

Dinner was a rowdy communal affair in a courtyard before an extravagant fountain. The dwarves were much happier with the fare, which they had liberated from the storerooms themselves, and they toasted sausages and feasted on smoked meats and roundly complain about all green food. Bilbo smiled at their antics and munched from the basket of strawberries he'd swiped from lunch. 

The sun set. The dwarves made merry. Bofur pulled out his whistle and they burst into song. Eventually, Thorin, Gandalf, and Balin rose. Bilbo watched from his seat by the fire, but Gandalf raised his brows _just so_ , so Bilbo, curious and unsure, joined them. 

The halls of Rivendell were transformed at night; the place seemed to glow with the grace of the Clayr, an ethereal blue-ish light that had no discernible source. The lamps seemed to fade in comparison. From every window and balcony, one could see the stars undimmed. Gandalf, Thorin, and Balin clomped through the stone halls, but Bilbo took care to keep his steps silent. The space seemed at once hushed and bustling. The elves they passed watched with distant curiosity. 

They met Elrond at the edge of the city. He was dressed in long robes of white, still crowned with moonstones, and now he held a curiously thick wand. "Where I lead you, none who are not Clayr may go. This is our way." He held out black velvet blindfolds. 

Thorin straightened to his full height, incensed. "Absolutely not." Behind him, Balin scoffed and muttered angrily.

Gandalf sighed loudly. "There is no other way."

"Then I will not go!" Thorin ground out. 

"Thorin Oakenshield, do not be so foolish--"

"Do not seek to tell me what to--"

Bilbo, horrifically uncomfortable witnessing their argument, in front of strang-- well fine, Elrond wasn't a _stranger_ , but he wasn't a member of the Company!-- stepped around them and walked up to Elrond and presented his face to be blindfolded. Thorin stopped mid-angry retort, and his shoulders fell. He too stepped forward. 

Balin shot under his breath, "Thorin, no!" 

Thorin replied quietly, "If there is no other way, then I will do what must be done." 

Elrond nodded at him and slipped the heavy velvet over Bilbo's eyes. His other senses immediately sought to make up for the difference. His hearing sharpened at the sound of Elrond slipping on the three other blindfolds. He jumped when Thorin reached out and took hold of the back of his surcoat. Bilbo could feel the heat of his hand pouring through the fabric and he fought back a blush. Then he felt a long cool hand on his shoulder to guide him, and he followed Elrond's lead. It was nerve wracking to walk without knowing where to tread. His soles eventually felt the change from stone to cold ice. His nose picked up the scent of cold rock and water. 

When Elrond stopped and pulled the blindfold from Bilbo's eyes, even the moonlight seemed almost too bright. The light streamed through the veil of a fine waterfall. They stood in a large cavern that opened into the edge of a high cliff, behind the waterfall. Behind them, ranks upon ranks of Clayr, gleaming in white robes and crowned with moonstones, stood watching the streaming waterfall. 

Blinking, the dwarves stood with him at the edge of the night, and then Elrond spoke with deep ringing tones, "By the Grace given to me as the Voice of the Watch, I bid thee to See." He extended his arm, drew the wand in a steady line, and the waterfall froze. The sheet of ice gleamed, backlit by the moon, and then the image of a mountain appeared. Thorin's fist clenched in the fabric on Bilbo's back. The view zoomed in on a sheer wall, midway up the single peak, and a small bird knocked a seed against the wall. The image flickered, this time gilded by a sunset, but the light faded quickly. Moonlight streamed onto the wall and a glowing doorway appeared. The door opened. Then the vision was overtaken by dragon fire. The soundless image of a burning town filled the view. The white-hot glow of dragon fire flickered to the white glimmer of a round jewel on a bed of gold coins, then flashed to Thorin, crowned, with tears in his eyes, holding Bilbo by the throat over the edge of the battlements--

Bilbo's heart clenched, but the images flickered on. He fought to keep up. 

Red scales, a sea of spears, Thorin falling lifeless to the ice beside the still body of a pale orc. Thorin seated upon a throne between his standing nephews, banners and beams of sunlight streaming around them, and a silently cheering crowd. An empty throne. A dark shadow, roughly the shape of a man, wreathed in flame--

The ice cracked and fell, and the waterfall flowed once more. Bilbo blinked rapidly and flexed his hands to try to regain feeling. His heart pounded in his ears. 

Elrond tolled, "Some new evil walks this land, obscuring our Sight. Your quest to reclaim Erebor is by no means assured victory, but I fear that to do nothing is no longer a guarantee of safety. A dragon is too great a threat to allow to remain unchallenged." He held out his arms, long sleeves framing his tall form, and he declared gravely, "So you have Seen, now you must remember. May the Charter preserve you."

Gandalf bowed, so Bilbo did too. Thorin and Balin followed suit. They each accepted their blindfolds and shuffle back out of the cavern. Once back in Rivendell, Elrond took back the blindfolds and leveled a significant look at Gandalf, but said no more. 

Gandalf nodded and turned to Thorin. "You must make for the Misty Mountains before dawn. Wait for me before the High Pass; I will join you there." Thorin looked at him suspiciously for a moment and then nodded. 

Bilbo asked quietly, "Where will you be?" 

Gandalf hesitated, then answered, "I need to meet with the head of my Order. But never you mind, Bilbo Baggins. I'll catch up with you in the mountains." He threw a light smile at Bilbo, who nodded slowly and turned to follow Thorin and Balin. They needed to pack and prepare if they were to leave before dawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Eliornod_ : from the Sindarin words Elior- Blesser/Helper & Nod- To Tie/Bind. 
> 
> I had the elves serve a traditional Finnish breakfast because just the thought of pickled herring, gravlax, cucumbers, and tomatoes on rye toast absolutely _horrified_ me as a kid. And Tolkien was a Finnish nerd, so I felt justified.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Falling, falling, falling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *waves weakly from beneath a pile of real world obligations* Don't worry! I'm still here!

Bilbo shouldered his pack and took one last look back at Rivendell. Then he turned away, only to be surprised to find Thoin watching him like he was waiting for something. The Wallmaker king gave him one last hard look and turned back up the trail. Bilbo fought down the memory of the sight of Thorin's face, of those hands on his neck-- he sighed and fell back in line with the dwarves, thoroughly miserable. The sendings had refused to return his clothes, so here he was, traipsing off into the wild, shimmering and gleaming in the dawn light like a beacon in a surcoat that didn't belong to him. But there was nothing else for it. He trudged on, one foot in front of the other, up ever higher and rougher paths.

That evening, they paused at the camp below the High Pass. Bilbo threw down his pack and laid down on the rocks with an _oof_. The dwarves passed around water skins and made to start a fire, but Thorin called for them to cease. "We'll push on through the night."

Balin asked quietly, "I thought we were to wait for Gandalf?" Bilbo barely heard and gave no hint that he could hear. 

Thorin replied lowly, "We make for the pass. We can no longer wait for the wizard."

Bilbo fought back a scream. 

The High Pass was awful in the dark. 

It was worse in a Thunder Battle. 

Bilbo could barely see it was so dark, and the rain plastered his hair in his face, and the wet path was hard enough to follow when it was stable and solid, so when their mountain began to move, the bottom of his stomach dropped out, and he once again slipped into a horrid state of numb panic. He was reduced to blind reactions, barely registering the shouts of the Company, and then he fell. 

He fell. 

He had one hand on the cliff, but his bare feet swung out into mid air. He couldn't even breathe to yell for help. 

"Bilbo? Where's Bilbo!" Their cries were so faint. Why were they so far away?

Bofur leant over the edge, on his belly, reaching, but he was too far away. 

Bilbo couldn't hold on any more. He stared at Bofur and felt his hand go numb.

Then he felt a great heaving haul on his back, and he was shoved high enough for Bofur's grasping hands, and he and the others dragged him back onto the path. Bilbo laid there, trembling, for a moment, face buried in wet (solid, solid) rock. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dwalin haul _Thorin_ back onto solid ground-- Thorin? Thorin had swung down to boost him to safety? Bilbo pushed himself onto his knees, but then Thorin was shouting about him, not even _at_ him, "He should never have come, he has no place among us!"

Then someone called out that they found shelter, a dry cave, and the Company surged forward. Bofur hauled Bikbo upright and allowed him to lean on his shoulder a bit. Inside, the dwarves fanned out.

"Caves are seldom unoccupied in these mountains," Gandalf murmured to Bilbo. Bilbo just sort of watched them, not seeing. He had frozen again. He froze, and he put Thorin in danger. He couldn't do that again. 

He needed to leave. 

Bilbo waited til everyone was asleep, their snores filling the cave, before he carefully got to his feet. He gingerly stepped over the sleeping bodies, cursing silently as he nearly lost his balance and fell on Dwalin. He forgot to take into account the watch, though. 

"Where d'you think yer goin?" Bofur hissed. 

Bilbo shut his eyes. _Anyone_ but Bofur! He let his shoulders drop. "Back to Rivendell."

"What! Why? You belong here, with us!" 

Bilbo flinched. "No, I do not. Thorin has made that abundantly clear. I'm little more than a liability to you all." He swallowed hard and ducked his head. "I should never have left Bag End. I don't-- I'm going home." He hitched his pack up higher on his shoulder.

"Oh I get it," Bofur said sagely. "You're homesick! I understand--"

Bilbo snapped, "No! You _don't_ understand! You dwarves don't have a home! You're used to this-- this life on the road, I'm not--" Bofur's face fell, and Bilbo realized what exactly he'd just said. "Bofur, I-- I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that--" 

"No, you're right," the dwarf said sadly. "We don't have a home."

Bilbo blinked hard, but he could not take the time to make this right. He swallowed hard, then straightened. "Bofur, I wish you all the best with your endeavor."

The dwarf just nodded, looking heartsick. As Bilbo true to shuffle past him though, Bofur looked at Bilbo's waist and asked, "What's that?" 

Bilbo looked down, saw the sliver of glowing light, and drew Eliornod a few inches. He cried, "Oh no! UP! Everyone up!" Then a line appeared on the sand. 

From across the cave, Thorin sat up and roared, "Goblins!" Then the floor dropped out beneath them.

They toppled and spun and bounced off the walls of a rough tunnel, landing in a heap on a scrap-wood platform, and then they were beset by a mob. Filthy, festering, decaying orcs piled on them, beating, scratching, choking, and they were driven in a pack on down the rickety gangways. There was no chance to draw weapons or sound the pipes. Bilbo took a chance and crouched down. No one noticed him. He was buffeted by boots and goblin feet for a few moments, but then they were gone, shrieking and beating and driving the Company on like cattle. 

For a moment, he crouched there, torn with indecision, and then he started to timidly follow. But then a stray goblin leaped down on him from behind. Bilbo twisted, but the festering creature's rotting hands wrapped around his throat. It tried to bite him. He scrabbled at its hands, loosed its grip enough to toss it aside, and he drew Eliornod. The orc shrieked and circled him, its eyes glittering in the blue glow cast by the blade. Bilbo didn't dare cast the pipes though, since the sound would echo something awful, and he may as well just shout _Here I am, don't forget me!_

And he slashed hastily, cursing his wandering mind. Then the goblin leaped at his face and Bilbo missed, and it wrapped a slimy arm around his throat, swinging up to ride his shoulders, beating at his head. Bilbo thrashed side to side, trying to dislodge it, but their momentum tipped them over the side of the gangway, and with a helpless yell, he bounced off one cliff edge and fell into the abyss.

\---

Bilbo came to inch by agonizing inch, face down in a squashed pile of mushrooms. The stench of rotting refuse and free magic made his eyes water, and when he gingerly wiped his cheek, his hand came away bloody. What? Oh. His temple was still trickling sluggishly. That movement was all he could muster. He was ok, he could lay here for a few more moments. 

But then he froze as the goblin started to stir. His sword glowed from the mushrooms on the other side of the goblin. He inched his hands to his belt, trying to reach the pipes he didn't think he had the breath to play-- 

Something with rasping breath shuffled closer, muttering. Then a sudden warm weight appeared on his lower back. Bilbo froze. 

"Nothing but nasty gobinses, Precious!" the shuffling, wuffling, muttering creature whined. Then it replied, "Yessss but it's fresh. Better than old bones-- _gollum, gollum_ \--" 

Then the goblin lurched, the creature shrieked, and it bashed the goblin unconscious with a rock. Everything inside Bilbo screamed as he locked up, fighting not to run. A...tail? lashed against his rear and claws pricked his back. 

"Nasty goblinses, we hates them!" it whined and started dragging the body away, til its strange conversation was nothing more than a distant echo.

Bilbo, still pinned by the tiny weight on his back, didn't dare move. Then he heard a quiet voice say, "My, my, you are in a pickle."

Bilbo, completely shocked, croaked, "Mogget?" 

The tail lashed against his rear again and then the cat stood, apparently stretching luxuriously (and digging his sharp, pointy paws in every bruise on Bilbo's back). He jumped off Bilbo's back and perched primly on a dry rock. "Imagine my surprise when, one moment I'm sitting by the fire, enjoying my fresh fish, and the next I'm down in this dung heap. Can't you Tooks ever leave well enough alone?"

Bilbo sat up gingerly, utterly confused. "Mog-- but-- what?"

The cat turned his ears back and glared. "As eloquent as ever, I see. You know full well that part of my _service_ ," he hissed, "includes protecting the Abhorsen in times of need." 

Bilbo blinked, opened his mouth to say something, and thought better of it. He blinked again, "Right-- good-- well then. Do you know the way out?" 

Mogget washed a paw. "Not in the slightest." 

Bilbo bit down a wimper. "Can you get me out the same way you got...here?"

Mogget's tail thumped on the rock a few times, then he said in a less-acidic tone, "No, I cannot, but you would be surprised how few of your folk have tried to take that logical option."

Bilbo panted shallowly and quipped faintly, "Yes, but why think around a problem when you can beat it over the head with a stick?" Goosebumps rose when he heard Mogget give a faint snort. So there was no easy way out of this. He stood shakily and bent to grab his sword. It still glowed faintly blue. Next to his sword, something glimmered. Something round. A...ring? In this pile of filth? Bilbo picked it up and ran a dirty finger along its gold edge, but the sword's light was fading fast. He had to use the rock wall to haul himself upright again. Mogget watched him with eyes that glowed green in the dim blue light, utterly still. Bilbo slipped the ring into one of the pouches on his belt. 

Bilbo looked back up the sheer crevasse. Then he looked behind into the utter darkness. Then he looked at the drag marks left by the muttering creature that hated nasty goblinses. Well, to be fair, Bilbo hated nasty goblinses too. He tucked the ring in his pocket and said, "Right." Then he set off. 

Bilbo tried to call up a Charter light, but this deep in an accursed mountain, he could not feel for the stream. He had to fight not to be sick, and he was so terrified that his hands and feet were numb. He crept on by the ghostly light of his sword.

Hobbits are very good at moving about unnoticed and unseen, and Bilbo was perhaps better than most. He spared a thought to wonder if there was any accuracy behind the dwarves' superstition about Marks and true names. Bilbo soon caught up with the creature, but he hung far back and sheathed his blade til only a bare sliver of light lit up his path. The crack in the ground opened onto a cavernous lake, echoing with drips and the harsh glutteral breathing of the...thing as it dragged the heavy goblin down to the rocky shore. The sounds echoed horribly around that big, open cave. 

Bilbo moved to the side, further away from the pair but still within sight. He was watching them so hard that he tripped over a rumpled blanket and stumbled to the ground. He landed on a hard, lumpy bundle and bit down on his lip to keep from yelping out loud. The creature halted and spun with a snarl, but then the goblin woke up and there were horrible wet smashing sounds and shrieks and groans, and then sudden, sudden silence. Bilbo clapped a hand over his mouth and then the little blue light in his sword went out. 

He found that the darkness was not in fact absolute. As his eyes adjusted, he saw millions of tiny glowworms that hung from the ceiling like stars in the heavens. Their lights were reflected in the water, disturbed as the ripples from the fight on the shore spread, and Bilbo could only gaze on in wonder. Then the thing attacked him. 

Bilbo sprang to his feet and unsheathed his sword and dove out of the way, slashing. The thing shrieked and leaped back, gabbling, "What is it Precious? What _is_ it?" -- "It's got an elf blade, but it's not an elfs!" -- "Gollum! Gollum!" 

"Back-- stay _back!_ " Bilbo tried to order, but his voice wobbled audibly. "I don't want to hurt you--" _Slash!_ "I just want to find a way out. Back up, outside." 

The skeletal thing circled him on all fours. "Lost its way, did it, Precious?" -- "I still say we eats it whole." -- "What about its elf knife?" -- "We will see to--" 

"How about if you don't show us the way out, _I_ eat _you_ ," Mogget drawled from his perch atop a slimy rock. The thing whirled with a choked off garble, instantly wary. Mogget's tail lashed and thumped in the dark. Two pairs of luminous eyes stared at each other. 

After a moment, the creature said, "As it pleases." It patted it's tattered britches and absentmindedly said, "Let me get my-- yes, my tool first, then we can lead then out." Then it slunk back and scrambled off. 

"That creature is going to double cross you," Mogget said as he washed a paw with the supreme indifference that only cats are able to display. 

"Yes, thank you, that thought has already crossed my mind," Bilbo said dryly. He furtively moved back to where he'd tripped, groping in the dark for the bundle that had banged up his knees. Instead, his fingers brushed over the cold metal clasps of a book, and he had to fight to keep his body from being pulled into Death. He snatched his hand back. Then he flicked the ragged blanket back and carefully picked up a small locked book. 

Mogget stopped washing his paw. "No." 

Bilbo faintly said, "No." 

Then he felt around some more and found the hard, lumpy ... bandolier. He knew what a bandolier was supposed to be. And that was a bandolier. He pulled it out from the blankets gingerly, oh so gingerly... And then a shrill howl pierced the dark. "NNNNOOO! LOST! My Precious is lost!" 

Bilbo stuffed the book into his belt and slung the bandolier over his chest and lurched to his feet. "His 'Precious?'" he tried to ask lightly, over the sound of the thing's violent weeping. Mogget offered no reply. Bilbo blinked and took the golden ring out of his belt pouch. But then he heard it snarl, "They stole it! They _stole it_ from us!" Bilbo broke into a run. 

He didn't know where to go, he just picked a direction. The thing followed him. The caverns beneath the mountains were jagged and barely lit by the glow worms, and Bilbo was banged and scraped and battered bouncing off the rough walls, and still the creature was gaining, its furious, slavering snarls echoing louder and louder. Then Bilbo tripped. He stumbled sideways, spinning to his back as he fell, and the ring flew out of his palm. He blindly reached to catch it and it slid onto his middle finger. 

The world slipped into the same horrid grey as Death, and for a terrible moment, Bilbo thought he'd in fact been dragged there without the proper protections for his mortal body, but no. The world was turned cold and grey, but the waters did not tug around his feet, and he could still see the rocks, though they appeared to be battered by a driving gale, like grass in the wind. Mogget came barreling around the corner but skidded to a halt. For a moment, he looked around for Bilbo, but then his glowing green eyes focused in on Bilbo's prone form. Then he whipped his head over his shoulder and dove out of sight. 

The thing came galloping around the corner, and Bilbo didn't stand a chance. He'd be seen and be strangled or brained or-- it ran right past him. "It came here to distract us!" It snarled. "Lying, tricksy, false, it knows the way out!" It's voice echoed off the rock. Bilbo gave up trying to understand and scrabbled after it.

Was the thing blind? Had it lost its mind entirely? Bilbo could barely keep up, relying on the snarling, wheezing sounds through the twisting tunnels. A waft of fresh air hit his nose and he almost cried. Then he saw sunlight. Sunlight! But the creature suddenly plastered itself the wall, and Bilbo saw the dwarves rush by ahead. 

But the Gollum thing was between him and the Company. As the last dwarf ran past, Bilbo tried to see a way past, but the creature threw himself down in the middle of the path and proceeded to... pitch a fit? It, he, looked like nothing so much as his own nieces and nephews, lying on his belly, kicking and pounding the ground with his fists and crying. Then he pulled himself upright, sitting, and wiped tears from his gaunt cheeks, lip quivering. He looked up, before Bilbo could dive back behind the curve of the tunnel, but the creature Gollum looked right through him. 

Bilbo, remembering the horrible sounds of orc flesh being ripped from bone, shuddered violently and drew his sword. He inched closer, and the thing still didn't react. Bilbo pointed Eliornod at its throat. Then it sniffled and buried its face in its-- _his_ bony hands.

He couldn't. Bilbo quietly put Eliornod back in its sheath. Then he backed up a few paces, nodded at Mogget from his perch around the corner, and took a running leap over Gollum. 

It-- _he_ must have felt the displacement of air overhead, or heard his footfalls, because as Bilbo landed, Gollum shrieked and flailed, and when Mogget took abounding leap over his head, he tried to run after them. But he stopped at the edge of the way out of the mountain, covering his face and crying about sunlight. 

Bilbo didn't slow down even when they reached open air. Mogget sprinted beside him, white tail flashing. He seemed to be the only bright spot in the world of whipping grey. The leeched colors were even greyer outside the mountain. Even out in the open air, it still felt as cold as Death. Worse, he still couldn't feel the flow of the Charter. They kept running through the pines, and there, he heard the Company arguing. He slowed as they came into sight, but no one noticed him. Bilbo stopped, confused.

"Don't blame me!" Dori shouted.

Nori added, "I think I saw him slip away when they first collared us."

"What happened, exactly? Tell me!" Gandalf demanded. 

"I'll tell you what happened!" Thorin ground out, eyes wild. "Master Baggins saw his chance and he took it! He's thought of nothing but his soft bed and his warm hearth since he first stepped out his door. We will not be seeing our hobbit again. He's long gone." 

Bilbo, now thoroughly fed up with this dwarf and his constant, baseless, pigheaded _underestimation_ , slipped the ring off his finger and declared, "No, he isn't."

He heard Gandalf's gleeful exclamations, but he would not break eye contact with Thorin. The shock on the dwarf's face was-- was-- not gratifying, per say, but it made a bit right _here_ on his chest settle warm like a brick in a bed on a cold winter's night. 

"But-- how did you get past the goblins?" Fili asked, awed. 

Mogget chose that moment to leap onto Bilbo's shoulder, startling him. His tail thumped against Bilbo's back, and he must have been giving the dwarves a hard glare, because Kili hastily added, "Well, bit obvious, isn't it? He's the Abhorsen!"

Bilbo froze as he realized what a figure he must strike now, surcoat shimmering in the sunset, bandolier across his chest, sword on his hip, book tucked into his belt, and with Mogget curled around his shoulders like a live mimicry of Thorin's fur mantle. He looked away from Thorin and tucked his chin. Then he took a deep breath and sought reassurance from the unending stream of the Charter, and _oh, there_ , he could finally feel it washing over his skin.

Gandalf, noticing the strained atmosphere, called, "What does it matter? He's back."

But Thorin stepped forward and insisted, "Of course it matters. I want to know." He stared up at Bilbo, brows furrowed. Quietly, almost hurt, he asked instead, "Why did you come back?" 

For a moment, Bilbo stared at him. Then he blinked rapidly and said, "I know you doubt me. I-- I know you always have. And you're right! I do miss Bag End. I miss my books, and my armchair, and my garden." He shrugged. Mogget dug his claws in briefly. Bilbo looked down at the cat and murmured, "Sorry." Then he looked back at Thorin. "That's where I belong. That's home. And that's why I came back." He broke off and looked around at all of them. "Because you don't have one-- a home. It was _taken_ from you." He looked back at Thorin, defiance thrumming through his whole dirty, banged up frame. "But I will help you take it back if I can." 

Thorin could take no more. He looked down and glanced back up at the fierce little creature from beneath his lashes, mind spinning, unable to meet Bilbo's gaze any longer. How? He was not kin, owed him no allegiance, he had _no stake_ in this, and he'd faced Thorin's own childish disapproval, but he just-- he just swore-- Bilbo just showed more loyalty and courage than Thorin had received from the rest of the dwarrow. How was Thorin going to live up to that? The rest of the Company were also shocked into silence. No one. _No one_ had ever given them this much. And how poorly they'd all paid him in return. But then Bilbo's expression slipped from sharp defiance into something softer, and he gave Thorin a small smile. 

But then Gandalf stepped up to Bilbo and hovered a palm over the bandolier as it looped over his shoulder. "After all this time, you found them in a mountain?" 

Bilbo finally looked down at the bandolier, not in the grey churning world brought out by the ring, but in the rich sunlight, and his heart dropped. The leather was moldy and cracking, and the silver fastenings were tarnished and bent. He swallowed hard. "There was a-- a creature in there that-- that I think was once a hobbit. At least I think we would have been of a height had he not grown so crouched and...spider-like. He had a--" and here Bilbo noticed he was suddenly reluctant to talk about the ring he found. He cleared his throat. "He had a kind of hovel beneath the mountain, and I-- well, I tripped over them." 

Gandalf chuckled. "Well, it appears that you were meant to have them." 

Bilbo ran a gently caress down the handle of Saraneth, but shuddered at the... _coldslimyawful_ feel and winced. "I'm afraid they've gone quite feral." The bells felt sullen and angry and mistrustful under his hands. They needed to be cared for before he dared use them.

"I'm sure you will be able to restore them, Master Abhorsen." 

Bilbo's eyes snapped up, but Gandalf only raised his bushy eyebrows at him. Then Bilbo nodded heavily and let it be. 

Gandalf nodded and turned a wary eye on Mogget. "Fancy seeing you here." 

Mogget rumbled deep in his chest. His tail thumped hard on Bilbo's back and thrashed back to clock Bilbo in the cheek. "I could say the same to you, Olorin." 

Gandalf sniffed and turned to the Company. "May as well get introductions and precautions out of the way. This creature goes by the name Mogget. Under _no_ circumstances are you to remove his collar."

"Why's that, Mr. Gandalf?" Kili asked with a glint in his eye. 

Bilbo silently begged, _no, no pranks_.

Before he could reply though, Gandalf answered, "Or else he will kill us all." 

This statement was met with some disbelief by the dwarves. Mogget washed one paw delicately. "Oh don't be so melodramatic, Olorin. I can always--well, sometimes--be bought off with fish."

When the dwarves started scoffing, Bilbo sighed and said firmly over the din, "He is in my service. The collar is part of the Binding. Ergo, do not removed the collar. It's simple really. And it helps if you treat him with respect." He shrugged one shoulder, just to jostle the car a little.

Mogget flicked his tail into Bilbo's eye. "Charter preserve us if _you're_ the voice of respectability," the cat grumbled. 

"Come now, I haven't pulled your tail since I was five. You'd think you'd've forgotten that by now," Bilbo said with a grin.

In true cat fashion, he ignored Bilbo entirely. 

Bilbo looked back to Thorin and smiled. 

Then a warg howled.


End file.
